The sun was hanging high above the sea ere the young knight in the pavilion upon the hill began to arouse himself from his profound stupor. Being of a healthful body it was his usual habit to start into broad wakefulness, with every faculty alive, equally upon the alert, and ready upon the instant for the work or pleasure that chanced to be forward for the day. So, in this instance, he was wholly unable to account for an extreme heaviness of the eyelids, combined with a sense of oppression that weighed painfully upon his chest. He grew conscious of a foreign odor in his nostrils that seemed to him to be wafted from an incalculably vast distance; and from the same distance was borne to his ears the confused murmuring of many voices. It appeared to Sir Richard that he had been years upon years lying upon his back exerting a vain though ceaseless endeavor to summon together his scattered faculties. He would be aware, in a vague sort of way, that his truant mind was slowly settling upon some solid point of fact. But when it was just about arriving at the spot where memory awaited it, nothing remained but baffling space, and he would discover himself to be again hanging in the awful abyss of Nothingness.

For quite a space Sir Richard struggled thus mightily to recover his wits from the enthralling opiate. Slowly, now, the events of the immediate past were coming back to him. The first being that returned to tenant his recreant memory was the gaunt, tall figure of the inn-keeper. Then crept in, stealthily, mysteriously, the misshapen hunchback, Zenas. The fog lifted from off the episode of the hound. "The voice," he whispered. "Ah! the voice! The note?—?yea, the note! And the precious strip of saffron velvet!"

Feebly he thrust his hand within the breast of his doublet and found it there, whereupon he contrived to open his eyes and struggle to his elbow.

An expression of indescribable amazement sat upon the young knight's countenance when his eyes encountered, above his head, the waving folds of the purple and black pavilion in the place of the uncovered beams of the room in the Red Tavern in which he had fallen asleep. He looked at the bed, and noted that it was the same, or one exactly similar in pattern. Upon a chair alongside his steel gear had been neatly disposed. De Claverlok had seen to it that it was scrupulously burnished in every part. Sir Richard's headpiece confronted him jauntily from its position upon one of the lower bed-posts. He saw, as he took it up, that its scarlet plume had been daintily curled. Turning it over, he raised the fillet. The message from Isabel was not there.

Round about the pavilion he could hear men talking and laughing. From the volume of sound, he estimated it to be a considerable company. They were conversing together for the most part, however, in the Spanish tongue, and he could gather nothing above a fragmentary word here and there. The perplexity was growing upon him as to which was the dream, the singular circumstance of the night before, or that in which he then discovered himself. But the cutting of saffron velvet, which he thereupon withdrew from its hiding place, proved to his apparent satisfaction that his charming adventure with the imprisoned maid had been a sweet reality. Examining it minutely, he pressed it once more to his lips, and then restored it to its place next his heart.

Against one side of the pavilion, which was closely curtained at every point, stood a bench upon which rested a basin of clear water. He arose from bed and laved his aching head within its grateful coldness. It had the effect of clearing it wonderfully. Before buckling on his armor, it occurred to him to ascertain whether the King's warrant were yet secure. He discovered, much to his chagrin, that it was missing. He congratulated himself, however, upon Lord Stanley's foresight in having provided him with a duplicate copy, which he had taken the precaution to have sewn within the lining of the skirt of his doublet, and was overjoyed to find that this had been overlooked. He then finished buckling on his steel gear, fastened on the casque, drew the visor close, and in this manner, armed in proof, he walked straight to the entrance and thrust aside the damask hangings. The pair of stalwart guards outside tumbled awkwardly together in their haste to arise, muttering confused sentences in Spanish as they did so and touching their fingers to their bonnets in a respectful salute. This rather humorous happening drew the attention of a score or more of armed men seated about a roaring fire, which burned at the foot of the steep incline that fell away from the pavilion on every hand. Upon catching sight of Sir Richard they arose in a body to their feet, standing at soldierly attention. Several of them bowed. One from among them started quickly up the hill to where the young knight stood.

He was a man of admirable proportions, and the ease and grace with which he swung up the sharp slope, all encumbered as he was in a suit of heavy, inlaid armor, bespoke for him great strength and activity of limb and body. The guards, obedient to his terse commands, withdrew themselves beyond earshot. He then approached Sir Richard, removed his feathered cap that he was wearing in temporary lieu of helmet, and saluted him with an elaborate bow.

"Good-morrow, sir knight," he gave him greeting. "Thy slumber, I trust, hath proved as restful as it was prolonged and deep?"

"By'r lady!" the young knight curtly rejoined, affronted by that which he considered but mock ceremony. "And what meaneth this thing, pray? Why am I entented here and surrounded by guards and warriors ... free-lances, outlaws ... i' truth, I know not which? Torment me not with suspense, sir, but tell me ... where is the Red Tavern wherein I went to sleep? And, by all the gods, sirrah, who art thou?"

"The last shall be first, good my knight, and the first last," the other answered flippantly. "As for myself, I am known here in Scotland as the Knight of the Double Rook. In England I am styled the Renegade Duke, and the bloody block in the Tower, sir, doth this moment itch for my head. To bring the history of my variegated and not uninteresting career down to the present time, I have the distinguished honor to have been nominated as thy squire and secretary. And as such, sir knight, I respectfully await thy commands."

"Then," answered Sir Richard upon the instant, "show me now the road to the Red Tavern. And be good enough to explain the mystery of how I am come to be here without either my knowledge or consent. Who may it be, sir, that is at bottom of this damnable piece of device and practice?"

"By St. Peter, sir knight," replied the Renegade Duke, "I miss my shot, an the Red Tavern be now even three cock-crows removed from here. For that, good sir, hath been the duration of thy sleep. As to its cause, ... well, Friar Diomed, the secret chymist, could doubtless better acquit himself of that answer than I."

"But thou canst tell me why I am here," Sir Richard insisted, "and who is responsible for this stealthy abduction."

"Why thou art here, sir knight, I may not say," declared the Renegade Duke, "for I have pledged my knightly word to maintain secrecy upon that point. As to the responsibility," he added boastingly, "I would fain accept my share of that along with the forty other knights and nobles who conspired to bring thee here."

"Pray," Sir Richard went on, "of what advantage is a truce, an a loyal subject of the King may not travel abroad without adventuring the perils of captivity, detention, or such other discourtesies as thy august body of forty may have under consideration? Have done with this errant nonsense, my good Duke ... an, indeed, thou be such ... and tell me where I shall find my horse, so that I may fare away upon my journey?"

"Thy steed, sir knight," said the Renegade Duke, apparently not heeding Sir Richard's unveiled insult, "is now being groomed by an equerry. After thou hast broken thy fast it shall be led around to thee, wearing as fine a coat of glossy satin as ever graced my lady's shoulders. Thou shalt then be at liberty ... or in a manner at liberty, I should have said, ... to resume thy journey, as henceforth thou shalt travel under the protection of our estimable body of men here."

There are ways without number of accepting an involuntary and compulsory situation. Sir Richard chose to embrace it after a lightsome and cheery fashion, believing thus that the open eye for an opportunity of effecting his escape would be thus more effectually disguised and concealed. "Well, ... so must it be," said he, laughing. "And since, mayhap, we are to travel in the same direction, I shall be all the gainer by thy famous company."

After they had breakfasted, the Renegade Duke signified his desire to escort Sir Richard about the grounds of the encampment.

He found it to be composed of some threescore of tents set in a wide circle around the purple and black pavilion. These, his loquacious guide informed him, but served to give shelter to the leaders, the men-at-arms and archers, of which there were near a thousand, had thatched, rude coverings beneath the trees and shelving rocks. It was a perfect morning, the sun blazing upon the sea out of a cloudless sky. The site of the encampment was matchless in the beauty of its surroundings. To the north an apparently limitless forest started out of a purple haze on the line of the horizon, far above; and, slipping down in terrace beneath terrace of parti-colored foliage, halted abruptly, as though the red moor had forbidden the trees to trespass within its boundaries. Southward, one overlooked the gorse-grown plain, the level monotony of which was broken, at wide intervals, by the sudden uprearing of an isolated brae.

When Sir Richard and the Duke returned from their circuit of the place of the encampment, the purple and black pavilion had been struck, and a cavalcade of fifty horsemen, superbly armed and caparisoned, awaited but the command to move. An equerry led forward the young knight's horse, which neighed with joy upon beholding its master. As to the perfection of its condition, the Renegade Duke had not exaggerated, for, between its burnished trappings, its ebon coat shone with the soft and velvety sheen of the finest satin. As he leapt into the saddle a bugler winded a silvery blast and the company at once set into motion. The horsemen were equally disposed forward of the noble prisoner and to the rear. Upon his right hand rode the Renegade Duke, who had mounted himself upon a gigantic white stallion. To his left rode Lord Bishop Kennedy, to whom the Duke introduced Sir Richard as they began their march.

The Renegade Duke's range of subjects of conversation was limited to the discussion of his wonderful prowess in armed encounters upon the field of battle and within the lists, and of his innumerable conquests in that other and fairer field of the heart's affections. Sir Richard had disliked the fellow from the first, and his feelings toward him were rapidly undergoing a change into something more robust than mere dislike. But to have sought a quarrel with him then would have defeated the purpose that was even then assuming a definite shape within the young knight's mind. Sir Richard despised the Duke not alone because of his manner of speaking, but also for the way he had of twisting his fierce mustachios till they pointed heavenward from each of his round cheeks.

When he could no longer tolerate listening to his idle boasting, Sir Richard turned and addressed himself to Lord Bishop Kennedy, who had spoken no word to the young knight since their first brief interchange of courtesies at the start of their journey.

"Surely," thought Sir Richard, "if Verbosity attends me upon my right hand, Taciturnity doth ride gloomily along at my left," for the worthy Bishop did not even condescend to raise his sharp chin from out of his white tunic whilst delivering himself of a curt negative or affirmative in response to the young knight's conversational advances.

Ahead of where they were riding, a jagged spur of the forest, composed of stunted pines and dense underbrush, swept defiantly down upon the moor. They were forced to describe a wide detour to the southward in order to avoid it and come upon the other side. As they were passing its nethermost point, Sir Richard glanced back to the place of his strange awakening beneath the sumptuous pavilion. He saw a great ship, with snowy sails bellying in the wind, making straight for that point of the coast, and the men, whom they had left behind, were swarming after the manner of an army of busy ants to the sandy beach.

Passing the spur of stunted pines, they skirted the forest in a northwesterly direction till they had arrived upon a well defined road that plunged directly into the dense wood. Up this rocky way the cavalcade slowly defiled. Far above their heads the maze of branches met and intertwined, making it seem as though the company had been swallowed up within the cool mouth of a tremendously lofty green cavern. The sound of the hoof-beats of their horses was smothered in the thick carpet of pine needles underfoot, and the rich, sweet scent of them filled all the air.

Since Sir Richard had displayed a disinclination to give ear to his cant, the Renegade Duke had drawn ahead to join the leading horsemen, and for an interval of more than two hours Bishop Kennedy and his prisoner rode onward side by side without exchanging a single word.

"What road may this be, good Bishop?" he ventured finally to inquire.

"'Tis the continuation of the Sauchieburn Pass," Lord Kennedy briefly replied.

Sir Richard was more than contented, for he knew then that the way led to Castle Yewe and Lord Douglas, into whose hands he intended soon to deliver the duplicate of the parchment that had been pilfered from out of his wallet.